


Brewing Coffee Like a Boss

by Othalla



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, POV Character of Color, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othalla/pseuds/Othalla
Summary: Rich may be hiding pathetically behind a plant from some interns, but he sure has his reasons.





	Brewing Coffee Like a Boss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ectotherm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectotherm/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, ectotherm!
> 
> In an ideal world, math wouldn't be my kryptonite, but in this one it really, really is and so you get some fluff and Rich and Mark interactions instead. Hope you like it!  
> Special thanks to [rabidsamfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/pseuds/rabidsamfan) who helped make this fic what it is, with not only a keen eye for rogue grammar but through excellent suggestions! <3

Rich is not sure, but he thinks the interns this summer are probably aliens in disguise. It’s not that they dress any more pretentiously than the previous batches of interns, or have faces that are differently configured or anything. It’s not even that they seem to have their own language, consisting of abbreviations of words and expressions that Rich has never heard before, which is so _weird_. What it is, is the coffee. The _coffee_.

For some unknown reason, every single one of them wants to get coffee with Rich. Not just any coffee, either, but coffee that he’s made. _Rich’s_ coffee. Despite a great deal of practice (and god, he has practiced _so much_ how is it possible that such a seemingly simple process can go so wrong when he’s following a recipe?) Rich is terrible at making coffee. He’s almost famous with how terrible he is at making coffee. He is, in fact, banned from using the coffee maker in the breakroom, simply because of how utterly incompetently terrible he is at making coffee. _No one_ wants Rich to make coffee for them. Even Rich only drinks it because terrible coffee is better than no coffee at all when you’re in the math zone and the breakroom is too far away.

Except the interns. Apparently. Some of them have even asked for a _second_ cup. Rich is pretty sure that most of them spit out the coffee in the trashcan when he isn’t looking, but still they come back. Like fungus. Their reasons for doing so are getting more elaborate, too. Rich knows that he’s not very good at the social thing, just like he isn’t very good with coffee, but he gets the feeling that the reasons for getting coffee with him are not quite truthful. Rich is not very fond of subterfuges.

“Are you hiding behind a plant?”

Rich blinks out of his focused state, and looks up at the person who spoke from behind him. “Yes?” he says like it’s a question and not a confirmation, because quite obviously he _is_ hiding, so why that was ever up for debate is, well, befuddling. Not like there’s much else to do crouched in a corner of the hallway leading to the main cafeteria behind an old croton plant. Its leaves are wide, dark green with a little red on the edges, and they grow tightly together. He’s even remembered to wear a green sweater to match. Very sneaky, if he does say so himself. The shades of green are even passably similar looking.

The man – white, older than him, with a face Rich think he’s seen before but can’t place – meets his eyes head on with his eyebrows slightly raised. “O-kay,” he says, drawing out the word exaggeratedly.

Rich frowns, disconcerted by the linguistic aberration.

Thankfully, the man elaborates without prompting. “May I ask why? It’s not every day you see a grown man skulking about in corners. Even at NASA.” He doesn’t look very judgmental; the corners of his lips are twitching slightly.

Rich considers for a moment. He doesn’t think that answering truthfully will come across as markedly weirder than hiding behind a plant. Which, _Rich_ thinks it’s not weird at all, but his family has been known to disagree, and his supervisor gets a bizarre look in his eyes sometimes when he finds Rich in weird places, so yeah. Rich’s thoughts on the matter are not shared by the general masses. It’s probably a little weird. And lying is out of the question, as Rich is a lousy liar. So, he tells the man the truth.

“I’m hiding from the interns.” Rich turns to scowl at the group of youngish maybe-actually-alien people, that are standing in line to get lunch. Which was what Rich had planned to do, too. He forgot to eat breakfast this morning. He wants a sandwich, but wants to not drink coffee even more, so the sandwich is currently on hold until the interns have gone away.

“Ah,” the man says. “The interns. That explains it.”

Rich narrows his eyes and looks at the man with renewed interest. “So, you’ve noticed it, too?” he asks. That’s promising. All Rich has gotten from his family and co-workers when he brings the subject of the interns up are sympathetic pats on the shoulder and one somewhat condescending _oh honey_. It’s nice to see that another person has identified their odd behavior without any input from Rich, which could disrupt a potential study. “That they’re not human.”

The man opens his mouth for a second, before he closes it again and draws up his eyebrows in probable confusion. “Noticed what again?”

“That they’re aliens.” Rich tilts his head, as another possibility makes itself known. “Or possibly robots. Either explanation works. They keep asking me for coffee and I make terrible coffee.” Actually, now that Rich thinks about it, that someone’s developed robots that can pass for humans is probably the likelier option. Rich doubts they’ve made big enough an impression in the galactic circuit for any alien to feel like taking a field trip to Earth. Why anyone would think to send their robots to hassle Rich, though, he can’t say.

It’s not very strategically sound, that’s for sure. Rich is very smart (and also very dumb, but, like, in drastically different ways) but he isn’t very important in the grand scheme of things.

“Aliens?” The man says with a funny upswing to his voice at the end. “I just thought you meant the stalkery habits they seem to have acquired.”

“Stalkery?” Rich frowns, and, huh. That does make even more sense than the robot explanation. A little more boring, though. And creepy, as stalking is bad behavior which you shouldn’t do even if you’re doing a harmless scientific experiment. Not that Rich knows that from experience, or anything. “I guess that’s true. But why, though?”

The man shrugs. “Same reason they’re sort of stalking me: hero worship.”

Rich is quiet for a long moment as he tries to connect hero worship to his own person and fails. “What do you mean, hero worship?” The man certainly could be famous, that would explain why his face is itching at the back of his skull. He tries a little harder to remember but nope, still nothing. He’s got a very common face, so Rich doesn’t feel too bad about it, though. Faces are hard.

But yeah, _Rich_ certainly isn’t famous. No one’s got any reason to stalk him through coffee.

“Uh.” The man shifts on his feet. “You _are_ Rich Purnell, right?”

Rich nods. “Yeah.”

The man seems to be waiting for something more than a _yeah_ , but Rich can’t for the life of him think of what that possibly could be. _Yeah_ sums up him being himself quite well.

“Right,” the man says finally. “There you have it.”

“I don’t understand.”

The main raises his eyebrows very high. “You’re _Rich Purnell_.”

“Well I know _that_.” Rich scowls at him. “But what’s that got to do with hero worshipping interns?”

The man gapes at him before he blurts out, “It means that you’re the reason I’m not still stuck on Mars eating goddamn potatoes, and you’re pretty famous.”

Considering Rich only knows of one person who’s been stuck on Mars eating potatoes in recent history, that would make the man Mark Watney. Huh. Rich squints at him, and yeah, he can see the resemblance to the posters thrown up pretty much everywhere. A little more wrinkly, a little hairier in the nostrils, sure, but that’s PR for you.

Rich decides then and there, not to tell his sister that he met Mark Watney while hiding behind a plant scouting robotic alien hero-worshipping interns. It seems like the sort of thing she wouldn’t approve of.

Rich might not be very good at lying, but he can keep his mouth shut when he wants to. Kind of.

“I don’t see how plotting orbital paths would make me famous. It’s just my job.”

Mark Watney snorts. “To you, maybe. But considering how Annie made Teddy sing your good graces to the world, I don’t think the interns will change their minds on your hero status.” Mark pauses, and scratches at his neck before he says earnestly, “and neither will I, to be honest.”

Rich licks his lips, self-conscious for some reason. The man, Mark Watney, seems to be closer all of a sudden. “You think I’m a hero?”

Mark Watney smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that even Rich wouldn’t doubt the sincerity in, and oh, he doesn’t seem quite so common looking anymore. “Of course. As I said, you probably saved my life.” He reaches out with a hand, holding it expectantly in front of Rich’s face. “So, thank you, Rich.”

Rich grasps it. “You’re welcome?” he offers uncertainly (because how do you even reply to someone thanking you for saving their life when you didn’t really think much about it yourself?) and flails when, when _Mark_ , pulls him up from his crouch and hugs him. It’s a brief hug. Rich can feel Mark’s arm like a steel band across the back of his shoulders. His free arm hangs loosely at his side, twitching because he doesn’t know what to do with it, but before he can come to any decision Mark releases him.

Mark smiles at him, and his face is directly in front of Rich’s because apparently they’re the same height. It’s a little bit too close, Rich doesn’t do too good with personal space, but he can’t think of something to say that would move the situation along. Then he spots the leader intern, the red-headed skinny one, gather their purchases and turn to the door.

For once, seeing the interns move closer to him is welcome.

“The interns,” he whispers forcefully, and hurriedly detangles himself from Mark and hides behind the plant again.

Mark stays where he is. He looks a little lost, and oh, shit, he’s Mark Watney.

Rich glances at the interns, almost at the door now, and makes a split-second decision, and pulls Mark down to hide with him. He doesn’t go down gracefully, but fortunately it isn’t a loud descent.

“What?” Mark mutters from where Rich is holding him close. Hard to have personal space behind a plant, but Rich will live.

“You’re Mark Watney,” Rich hisses. “If they see you, they’ll come here, and then they’ll see me and _I don’t want to drink more coffee._ ”

“Oh,” Mark says. “Makes sense. Scoot over a little, though, my leg’s sticking out.”

Rich shushes him, but moves further into the corner, Mark shuffling after him. They peer through the thick green and red leaves, watching the five interns pass them by, not even looking in their direction, and disappear down the hallway.

Rich counts to ten. When no intern reappears, he lets out a relieved sigh. Then, his stomach grumbles.

Mark laughs and gets up. “Let’s get you some food, maybe? The scary interns are gone now.” He reaches down with his hand again, but Rich disregards it and leans a hand against the wall to rise.

“Food, yes.”

He steps out from behind the plant and enters the cafeteria, Mark following him closely behind. It’s strange, how Rich doesn’t find himself really minding.

After contemplating the matter thoroughly, he gets a chicken parmesan sandwich, because the other alternatives are either too dry or too soggy, and pays. Rich turns to look for a place to sit, only to see Mark waiting for him and holding a cup of coffee in each hand, an expectant look on his face. Carefully, Rich comes closer. Mark moves.

Huh. Apparently, they’re sitting together. Okay then.

Mark finds them a seat at a small table by the windows overlooking the garden and they sit down opposite each other. He puts one of the cups down in front of Rich and takes a sip of the other one, giving a content sigh.

Rich frowns, eyes shifting between the steaming up in front of him and the man who apparently bought it for him.

“I already ate lunch,” Mark says and shrugs.

That doesn’t really explain why he bought coffee for Rich, though. Rich sighs, and decides to not think about it. People do strange things, it’s not a new phenomenon.

He grabs the cup, sending a quick look Mark’s way, and takes a cautious sip. He almost groans at the taste. This is the very opposite of terrible coffee, and Rich is not far away from crying.

Mark chuckles. It’s a warm and kind sound that’s pleasant to listen to.

Rich coughs, suddenly deeply unsettled, and grasps for a diversion. “Why do you think they ask for  _my_ coffee when they can get their coffee here?” he asks Mark. Rich might buy the hero-worshipping thing (for now) but he still doesn’t get the coffee. There are easier, and less terrible ways, to invade his space, he’s pretty sure.

“Maybe it’s a dare thing?” Mark offers with a shrug. Then he gets a weird look in his eyes, shifty looking, and he coughs. “Or, you know, it could simply be attempts to ask you out on a date.”

Rich tries to think back and see if there were any signs that pointed to romantic interest, but for the life of him he can’t tell. He grimaces. People and their emotions are too complicated. “Ugh,” he says, because it’s honestly the only thing he can think of that fits. _Ugh_.

Mark snorts. “They are just interns, you know. Can’t expect them to be smooth.”

“I don’t need them to be smooth. I need them to leave me alone.”

“Well, you could just tell them that. They might surprise you,” Mark says, and nonchalantly swirls his teaspoon around before he takes a pointed sip. “Or, you could get coffee with me, and I’ll scare them off for you.”

Rich takes a big bite off his sandwich before he answers. “Do you make good coffee?”

“Good enough,” Mark says around a grin.

Rich grumbles a little, because coffee skill envy is not something he’s past yet, but nods. “It can’t be worse than mine,” he decides.

Mark laughs, and Rich finds himself smiling at his sandwich.

He blinks and wonders why. He takes another bite of his sandwich, occupying his mouth with more important things. Distractedly, he watches as Mark holds his cup in both hands as if to warm himself. His eyes are crinkled behind his glasses. Maybe, Rich thinks, it’s the coffee.

 


End file.
